The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [165]
DECEMBER 1777
He had taken Temple to the opera, a lavish production of a new work by Franz Joseph Haydn, Il Mondo della Luna. The young man had protested at first, but Franklin would hear none of it, had been dedicated to injecting his eldest grandson with a significant dose of culture. He knew Temple would have been much happier spending the evening with the young ladies of Passy, and throughout the carriage ride into Paris, the young man had sulked and growled his displeasure. But once inside the grand opera house, Temple’s mood had brightened considerably. The vast audience that flowed through the portals of the hall were the cream of Parisian society, and as both the young man and his grandfather noted, there were more beautiful women in attendance at this one event than could be found in the entire village of Passy. Though he could not be certain that Temple had acquired any appreciation for the works of Haydn, the society women who took notice of this eminent Doctor Franklin, took special notice of his grandson, and the young man found himself fluttered over by a giggling flock of colorfully adorned young maidens. Temple would never protest an evening at the opera again.
They would remain in Paris for the night, Franklin having been granted an appointment with Vergennes the next day. He had made arrangements to stay at a comfortable hotel in the city, had been discreet about his planning, expected that if the news of his evening in Paris was announced, someone would certainly insist on making a fuss, some sort of reception. Temple would no doubt enjoy the attention, but Franklin’s patience for social banter was fragile. Despite his love of the opera, after such a long evening, he was more interested in a good night’s sleep.
They arrived at the hotel to find the wide entryway choked with traffic, carriages and their drivers maneuvering clumsily. His own carriage halted in the street, and Franklin peered out the side, his driver pointing. “Monsieur. My apologies. There is so much . . . busy.”
“No matter, my good man. We will make the walk from here. If you would kindly retrieve our bags . . .”
The driver was quickly down, opened the door, and Franklin eased himself out, stepped down on the uneven cobblestones. He looked back at Temple, said, “You see? Someone in the hotel must have revealed our stay to every guest in the place. Now they have spread the word to every corner of the city. There is truly no escaping the crowd.”
Temple was beside him, the young man holding discreetly to Franklin’s arm, supporting him, steadying him as they stepped over the treacherous roadway. “I should have a word with the manager. Clearly he has no respect for my privacy.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The young man’s tone was sarcastic, and Franklin could tell that Temple was skeptical. Why else would such a crowd assemble? It seems he must see for himself. He is more like me than even he knows. Ah, well, if we must endure an adoring audience, at least I can use this to instruct him, some guidance on the proper way of showing humble appreciation to one’s admirers.
They wound their way through the carriages, reached the entryway, the door held open by two men adorned in the costumes of Roman guards. Franklin smiled as he passed them, thought, Ah, the French. They do so seek the absurd in their fashion.
The lobby was more quiet than he expected, and he led Temple to the reception desk, a young man writing furiously on a pad of paper.
“Excuse me, sir. We have arrived. Will you kindly direct my grandson and myself to our proper station?”
The clerk ignored him for a moment, continued to scribble, looked up now, showed a mild shock. “Oh! Dr. Franklin! Yes, your room is prepared, sir!”
Their baggage had been set beside him, and the clerk seemed to study the emptiness of the lobby, an annoyed frown.
“There is no one to assist. I am sorry, sir. The servants are all engaged with the reception in our grand hall. I shall have to assist you myself. If you will wait just one moment.”
The clerk went back